BUT THE REVOLUTION STILL PLAYS
He made the world dance. Then he made it think. Then he disappeared. And now, Sylvester Stewart—*Sly Stone*—has taken his final bow. The man who taught America to “Dance to the Music” and reminded us that “Everybody is a Star” died today in Los Angeles on June 9, 2025, at 82. It’s most poetic too, considering the conflict happening in LA right now. The cause of death was chronic obstructive pulmonary disease, but the real loss is cosmic—a rupture in the soul of American music. Sly didn’t just change the sound. He cracked the foundation. Built a multiracial, mixed-gender band during a time when Black folks couldn’t even drink from the same water fountain. Stacked harmonies over horn blasts. Screamed soul into psychedelic feedback. I’M ACTUALLY SCREAMING AND CRYING RIGHT NOW WITH MY WORDS!
Sly then vanished into a fog of drugs, paranoia, lawsuits, and lost time. He was a prophet and a prisoner. A funk godfather and some may say a freak show. A genius and a ghost, both. But no matter what, he was ours!!!
BEFORE THE FUNK—THERE WAS FIRE
Born in Denton, Texas in 1943 and raised in Vallejo, California, Sylvester Stewart was a musical prodigy by 4, mastering the organ and gospel harmonies under the glare of Pentecostal light. By his teens, he was a radio DJ (KSOL), a session musician, and a studio producer—already bending genres before anyone had a name for the fusion he would later unleash.In 1966, he pulled together the perfect storm: Sly & the Family Stone.Not a band.
A *movement.* Black, white, male, female, tight harmonies, loose clothes. They were a living protest poster—funky, free, and fly as hell.From *Dance to the Music* to *Stand!* to the haunting *There’s a Riot Goin’ On,* Sly gave voice to a generation walking the tightrope between flower power and full-blown rebellion. Woodstock? He didn’t just perform—he baptized the whole crowd in funk.But it wasn’t built to last.—
HIS GENIUS WAS DIFFERENT, NOT GENTLE
By the ‘70s, Sly’s bright colors turned dark. Cocaine. PCP. Missed shows. Band fights. His famous mansion parties turned into surveillance dens. The FBI. The IRS. The rumors. He pushed people away. Pushed music further. *Riot* had no liner notes, no smiles, just moody rhythm boxes and ghosts. It was brilliant. It was broken. He became a myth in his own time—living in a van outside Crenshaw, showing up at court in wigs and slippers, suing the industry that bled him dry.And yet… the music never stopped playing. Hip-hop borrowed his drums. Prince stole his screams. D’Angelo wore his vibe like a second skin. Kanye, Outkast, The Roots—they all cribbed from the Stone scripture.
THE COMEBACK THAT NEVER CAME—AND THE MIRACLE THAT DID
In 2006, he peeked out at the Grammys. Spiky mohawk. Hunched back. Shaky hands on a keyboard. Five seconds of hope. Then gone again. Until the book. In 2023, he released *Thank You (Falettinme Be Mice Elf Agin),* a raw, reflective memoir that finally let us hear his voice—clear, funny, bitter, brilliant. Then came the Questlove documentary. *Sly Lives!*—an unflinching portrait of a man who changed the world but couldn’t escape his own mind. A man who made us feel more alive while dying inside himself. Now, he’s gone. But damn if the earth didn’t shift just a little when the news hit.
THE AFTERSHOCK
Here’s the part no one teaches you and me: when a man like Sly dies, the silence is loud. You hear him everywhere—in Janelle Monáe’s pansexual funk. In Kendrick’s fury. In every rebel who dares to groove and resist at the same damn time. This isn’t just an obituary. This is a praise break. A raised fist. A eulogy with a wah-wah pedal.Because Sly Stone wasn’t just funk. He was the future. And now that future is on *us.*
ONE LAST FAMILY AFFAIR
If you’ve ever worn your hair wild, loved someone your mama warned you about, built your own tribe from scratch, or made music your truth-teller… thank Sly.If you’ve ever danced while angry, cried while singing, believed in the beauty of misfits… thank Sly. And if you’ve ever felt too broken to keep going, but did anyway? You *are* Sly. Rest easy, maestro. The riot you started ain’t over. Also, EVERYBODY IS INDEED A STAR!!!!
GOODBYE SIR! WE SALUTE YOU! WE THANK YOU! NOW WE’RE ALL DANCING TO THE MUSIC AGAIN!!!! ONE TIME FOR THE KING!!!
